


In the Valley Below

by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme



Category: God's Own Country (2017)
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, Homophobic Language, M/M, Marriage, Post-Canon, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme/pseuds/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme
Summary: Seven times Johnny and Gheorghe go into town together.
Relationships: Gheorghe Ionescu/Johnny Saxby
Comments: 69
Kudos: 426





	In the Valley Below

**Author's Note:**

> Two stories in one week? Clearly I’m not over these two.

It could be dangerous below their lonely spot on the high hill. Johnny knew this from a young age, and it hadn’t changed in all the years since. When he was a kid, the others shunned him because he always smelled like sheep shit, no matter how much he washed before school. When he got a little older, it was because he ignored the girls and stared too long at the boys. _Creep,_ they’d whisper, loud enough so he heard it when he passed by. They didn’t use the other word. They knew he didn’t hesitate to hit when he heard it, and it only took a few broken noses for the boys in town to learn taunting him wasn’t worth it. They called him crazy instead, and gave him a wide berth. By the time school ended, he’d stopped caring what they thought of him. No reason for him to like town, or for town to like him.

But there were some instances when he needed to go to town. Supplies, food, the vet, a fresh pint. He always went by himself, until Gheorghe came along.

The first time they went down together, everyone stared. People in these parts weren’t used to seeing anyone who wasn’t milky white, and they stared at Gheorghe like he was some kind of zoo animal. A couple men outside the pub even spat in their direction while they walked to the feed store, but they were far enough away that it couldn’t be considered a direct threat. It pissed Johnny off anyway, and when he looked over at Gheorghe and saw how his head was bent, deferential as ever, his anger burned hotter.

It wasn’t like he was here illegally. He came to do a job, and he was doing it. Same as everybody else. Better, even—he took the job nobody in this damn town would take. Nobody in this damn country, in fact.

“Fuckin’ wankers,” Johnny muttered under his breath, and in his periphery, he caught a twitch in Gheorghe’s face—though whether it was a smile or scowl, Johnny didn’t know. He didn’t look Gheorghe in the face much. He worried that once he started, he wouldn’t know how to stop.

* * *

Johnny had never made a show of his sexuality, though he figured they all knew by now. It’s not like he had ever been seen swanning around with girls, and he wasn’t exactly hiding it when he went into public toilets with boys. Anyone who’s been at the pub knows, and everyone’s been at the pub. Sometimes he got funny looks for it, but never trouble. Not since schooldays.

Still, he was apprehensive going back to town with Gheorghe, after everything that had happened the past few weeks. He had never walked around with a man before, not a man he’d been naked with, and it made him feel like some kind of spotlight was on him. Johnny stared at the people they passed and he wondered if they knew what went on between them just by looking at them. Or maybe they’d just always assumed it was happening, from day one. After all, why else would a pretty foreigner show up on the farm and stay for so long, except so Johnny Saxby could fuck him during the cold nights?

The thought made him angry and proud all at once. All of them in town always thought they were so much better than him, but here Gheorghe was, proof that Johnny had something the rest of them didn’t. Something worth sticking around for. Something that made this shitehole worth living in. It made Johnny want to kiss him, right there in the town square. It made him want to drag Gheorghe away and keep him hidden, so he could have him all to himself up on the farm.

Johnny yanked open the door to the hardware store, glancing back at Gheorghe as he held it open. He couldn’t resist a little smile. Sometimes just seeing Gheorghe, knowing he was really _here_ , made him so happy he couldn’t control his face.

The look Gheorghe gave him back was so warm and soft and knowing that Johnny had to turn his whole body away lest he do something mad like kiss him against the stacks of drill bits by the door.

They did their shopping quickly, and once they stepped out into the square, Gheorghe made for the truck, but Johnny called him back.

“Wanna show you something. This way.”

Gheorghe followed along, peering curiously around Johnny’s shoulder as they passed the shops and the grocery and finally turned at the post office, just before the cobblestone bridge that spanned a small creek. But instead of going inside, Johnny stepped around the back. Gheorghe hesitated, glancing at the road behind him.

“Where are you going, John?” His voice carried in what he hoped wasn’t an overly loud whisper. He could swear he’d seen the net curtains at the house down the lane twitch, watching.

“Through here,” Johnny called back, and he made no effort to keep his voice down, so Gheorghe sighed, and followed after him. At least he couldn’t be blamed for whatever came of this.

“I really do not think this is a good idea,” he began, keeping his voice quiet as he came around the edge of the building. “We are right by all of the…”

He broke off when he saw Johnny standing there, in the little yard behind the post office, beside a stream that was so bursting with wildflowers Gheorghe had to blink in order to focus his eyes properly. There were violets and daffodils and forget-me-nots and so many others he didn’t know the names of, not in English or Romanian. Explosions of red and pink and orange and blue. It was more color than he’d ever seen in this dreary little country. It was beautiful.

“Don’t like much of town,” Johnny said, shifting his weight as he moved his shopping bag from one hand to another. “But I always liked it back here. Thought you might like it too.”

Gheorghe stared at it all: at the flowers, at the stream, at Johnny. Things changed so much day to day with him that he never knew what to expect anymore. He stepped a few paces until they were side by side. When Johnny glanced over at him, clearly nervous for approval, Gheorghe smiled. He twitched his hand to the side, just barely brushing Johnny’s, who started, but didn’t pull his hand away. Buoyed, Gheorghe reached out and slid their hands together.

“Don’t,” Johnny stared to say, trying to pull away, but Gheorghe held on tight.

“Just for a minute,” he whispered, and Johnny gave in, remembering the deal they’d made when Gheorghe had come back.

They stood for a little while, basking in the sun and flowers and each other. A few minutes passed before Gheorghe caught a laugh from Johnny, and glanced over. He was grinning.

“What?” Gheorghe asked.

“You thought I brought you back here to do you, didn’t you?” he snickered. “That’s why you kept whispering.”

Against all reason—given what they’d already done to each other—Gheorghe felt his face warm with embarrassment. “It… crossed my mind,” he admitted.

Johnny laughed again, and Gheorghe smiled at the sound. He didn’t get to hear it much, and who cared if it was at his own expense?

He looked out at the flowers and the water and he listened to the birds calling to each other and he thought, very secretly, that it would’ve actually been quite nice, the two of them here. The grass looked warm and soft. The building hid them from prying eyes. And they could clean off in the stream after…

Johnny seemed to read his mind, for his laughter had died when Gheorghe next glanced over at him. He let go of his hand, too, before leaning close to whisper in his ear.

“Pretty here,” he murmured, slipping his fingertips up the sleeve of Gheorghe’s sweater, “But trust me, I’d much rather have you on my own land.”

“Oh, yes.” Gheorghe caught his eye with a triumphant smile. “I do know that by now.”

* * *

Later that winter, at the pub, Johnny got too drunk and too comfortable and he kissed Gheorghe on the mouth, right in front of everyone. He didn’t think much about it, except to be annoyed Gheorghe had pulled away so fast. Hadn’t they agreed not to hide anymore? But then he heard somebody mutter, _Fucking faggots_.

He jerked his head up, nearly smashing his chin into Gheorghe’s nose.

“ _So?_ ” he yelled out, too loud. The pub around them went silent, still. The couple playing pool were gripping their sticks hard enough to make them seem like weapons.

He felt Gheorghe’s hand on his arm, but out of sight, below the table where no one could see. He ignored the silent plea for them to leave. He knew they were worse off out there than in here. And he wasn’t about to ignore an insult said right to his face.

“Which one of youse is so bothered by it?” Nobody spoke. The old men hunched close over their pint glasses; the young ones’ eyes darted around, trying to find the would-be flashpoint before it went off. “What do any of you care what we do with each other? Don’t involve you.”

A man at the end of the bar spoke up without bothering to look Johnny in the face. In the silence of the pub, his low voice was able to carry clearly, and Johnny recognized him for who he was: David Winslow, the town’s mechanic. The same voice that had spoken before. “Don’t care what you do, lad, so long as we don’t have to watch. We’re just trying to have a nice pint here.”

“Oh, aye, and what do you think we’re doing?” he yelled back, ignoring Gheorghe’s shushing in his ear. “It’s not like we’re fucking in front of ye. You kiss your wives. How’s it any different?”

Winslow shook his head, as if Johnny were some kind of ignorant dolt. He took a long pull of his pint.

“You been alone around them sheep too long, boy. Some things aren’t natural.”

That’s what he got up and started slamming his fists into flesh.

He was bloody and he’d done some bloodying by the time Gheorghe managed to pull him off. He had to shove Johnny against a wall and hold him there so he’d stop lashing out.

“Leave them,” he growled, his face so close to Johnny’s they might as well be kissing again, save for the fury in his eyes. “Leave them, John, it is useless. They are old men and will not change. Let’s go home.” When Johnny made to duck around him, Gheorghe yanked him hard by the collar to bring him back. “I _said_ , let’s go home.”

“Listen to your wifey, Saxby. Go on back to the farm now.”

Gheorghe’s arms wrapped tight around his chest were the only thing that held Johnny back from launching himself at the man once more.

On the way out, he put his fist through one of the windowpanes by the door, just for good measure. He might be a fucking faggot, but he wasn’t one who shied from a fight.

Gheorghe didn’t speak to him for a week and a half after that, but it was worth it to show those assholes down below.

* * *

After the fight, they went into town strictly for supplies only, and they always went together. Ostensibly for protection, though Johnny knew it was for accountability too. They didn’t stop in the pub anymore. It was strictly the vet or the feed store or the grocery or the post office. Couple times a year they went by the shops if they needed new pants or socks, but that was it.

It was a quiet life, and it became even quieter once Johnny’s dad passed. They were lucky to have him as long as they did—the doctors had been clear on that—and even though they knew it was all borrowed time, it still felt like a shock when he went.

The town turned out for the funeral, not that Johnny was expecting any of them. Wasn’t like they put out a notice or anything. Everyone just knew somehow, and came. He wished they hadn’t. The only one it helped to see was Robyn—Johnny had told her about his dad’s death himself, not sure she’d even come home for it, but there she was. Dependable as always. None of the others truly cared about his dad—none of them had visited since that second stroke hit, but she had. Johnny met Robyn’s eyes and nodded but that was all he could manage. He hoped she could see the thanks there, because he didn’t trust himself to speak it aloud.

He stood at the front, with his nan on one side and Gheorghe on the other, and he pretended they and the priest were the only ones left in the world. He saw the way his nan stood, tall and proud, staring all the townspeople down so that even the boldest became meek. Good woman, she was. When Johnny squeezed her shoulder in support, she covered his hand with hers.

And then the service began. He listened to the readings and the prayers and he tried to be calm about it all. He did well, he thought. He held it together.

Until they started throwing dirt on the casket and he lost it. Lost it so bad he could hardly see for the tears. He probably would’ve fallen down if Gheorghe hadn’t been there next to him, keeping him up. Keeping him alive, it sometimes felt like. He let Gheorghe hold him and kiss him and he didn’t care who saw or what they said about it. Didn’t matter anymore. Johnny wondered why it ever had.

* * *

Time passed. Nan got older, but she didn’t show any sign of giving up, and in the months it took Johnny to recover from his dad’s death, her resolve strengthened his. If she could prepare for the next day, so could he.

His father’s funeral had made a few things clear. One was, he was determined never to lose Gheorghe. Not again, not ever, not even for a day. Second was, town was always going to be there below them. So there was no point in avoiding it as they’d been doing.

He took a leaf from his Nan’s book, and he faced things head-on. If he needed to go into town, he did it. If he could take Gheorghe with him, he did. They didn’t skip through the square holding hands or loiter outside the shops kissing or nothing, but they didn’t pretend they were anything less than exactly what they were to each other.

Eventually people stopped staring so much.

And eventually Johnny found his nerve.

They were all settled in close together, him and Gheorghe and Nan, and every day their roles became more and more permanent until there was no point in avoiding it any longer.

He asked one spring while they were out lambing. He knew it was Gheorghe’s favorite time of year, and it felt like an anniversary, up there on that hilltop all by themselves. Johnny didn’t have a ring or a speech or anything besides himself, but apparently himself was good enough, for Gheorghe didn’t have to be asked twice before he said yes.

It took a while to sort out all the paperwork. That was the worst part, really—that it couldn’t be done in an instant. They’d been slowly leafing through all the requirements for months, a sort of back-burner project, long before Johnny had even asked. It was just the smart thing to do, legally, and they all knew it. Still, he had wanted to ask and he had wanted to do it his way. He had wanted it to be about more than just the law.

When they came back with the lambs, and those soft smiles on their faces, Nan gave a little cry and hugged them both at once, not needing to be told. Johnny could swear he caught her wiping her eyes as she pulled away, but he didn’t say a word. He smiled so much that day that his face ached by bedtime, but it was a nice ache.

Their town wasn’t big enough for a register office, so they had to go to Bradford to make it official. Nan, of course, came along as one of their witnesses, and once Johnny told Robyn the news, she insisted on being their second. So they made the twenty-minute drive together, all crammed tight in the truck, with Johnny and Gheorghe feeling stuffy and uncomfortable in their new suits.

 _Worth it for the pictures_ , Robyn kept saying, and as it turned out, she was right. They looked like different people in the suits—but they looked happy together, and that was what mattered. That, and those gold rings on their fingers.

Robyn drove Nan back and helped manage the farm the rest of the weekend, while Johnny and Gheorghe continued south by train. Johnny had never been to London before, never been further than Bradford in fact, and while he felt that itch to get back to the farm the moment the thing was done, they’d already made plans. And as Gheorghe reminded him, it might be the only vacation they’d ever have, so they should at least try to enjoy it.

Gheorghe had worked in London for a spell, and so he played tour guide once they arrived. It was strange to be led around his own country, but London was just as foreign to Johnny as he imagined Romania would be, so he was happy to have a guide. Happy, as always, to have Gheorghe.

The first night, they ended up at a shabby little pub in some outer borough—finally having found someplace they could afford—and they drank a bit more than they were used to. London felt so different than their little town, and Johnny felt different in it. After a few hours, he didn’t think twice about holding Gheorghe’s hand on these streets, or kissing him at a table in the crowded pub. Nobody else seemed to think twice about it, either. It was nice not to have to control himself just to keep others comfortable.

They even saw another couple like them, and after Johnny muttered, _Hey, look_ , Gheorghe called out and waved them over. Johnny wanted to hide under the table, but they were nice enough, and chatted for a bit. Besides the men he used to fuck and leave behind, he’d never met anybody like himself except Gheorghe. And he’d never seen a couple. He was starting to understand why their town stared so much, why they couldn’t help it.

Sooner than they would’ve liked, though, the weekend was over, and they had to go back. They knew Nan would be low on groceries, so they stopped at the store in town on the way up. A teenage girl whose name Johnny didn’t know was manning the till and she eyed their hands as they crowded their items on the counter.

“Two of youse had a fancy weekend away, yeah?” She smiled, nodding down at their rings. She was young. Looked too young to have a job, Johnny thought, never mind that he’d been working since he could walk. “Robyn showed me the pictures,” she confided with a grin. “Never seen neither of you so cleaned up. Looked like movie stars or summat.”

“Special occasion,” Johnny grunted, busying himself with his wallet so he wouldn’t have to continue the conversation. He paid, and hoisted as many bags as he could into his hands before making a beeline for the door. Gheorghe, following after him, grabbed the one bag he didn’t manage to pick up.

It wasn’t until they were out in the square, with the shop door shut behind them, that he spoke.

“Great. Now we have a fan club.”

Gheorghe reached over curl an arm around his shoulders. “Better than enemies, no?”

Johnny couldn’t argue that. And when Gheorghe caught his eye, Johnny leaned over and met him halfway in a kiss. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the shopgirl watching, no matter her good intentions.

* * *

“Saxby.”

Johnny was on his way out of the feed store when a man’s voice called his name through the dusk. He turned and saw Paul Claybourne standing by his truck, looking anxious.

“What?” he called out, tossing the feed in the bed.

“Your man. Georgie. He’s good with runts, yeah?”

Johnny blinked, not quite sure what he was hearing. “Gheorghe,” he corrected automatically. “Aye, he’s a talent. Nursed more than a few to full adults.”

“I was just about to drive up to your place. My mare, she’s havin’ a rough go of it. Foal’s stuck, and comin’ too early. I wondered… Could he maybe help? Vet’s away on a call out in the country and don’t think he’ll be back in time.” There was a strain in the man’s voice that made Johnny peer a little closer at him. Claybourne looked at the ground. “He suggested I leave it be. But I can’t leave it be.” He scratched the side of his head guiltily, and when he next spoke, it was in a whisper. “Everyone’s got a favorite, don’t they?”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Johnny understood more than most. He drove them both up the muddy late to the farm.

Gheorghe came out of the barn as he pulled up, ready to unload the grain, but his brow furrowed at the sight of Johnny’s companion. They did not get visitors on the farm, not ever. “What is wrong?”

“Nowt,” Johnny muttered, squeezing his arm as he passed. “He wants a chat with you. ‘Bout a foal.”

Claybourne explained the situation while Johnny unloaded the feed. Every few seconds, Gheorghe glanced at him, but Johnny refused to meet his eye. This was Gheorghe’s decision to make, not his.

“Could you come by?” Claybourne was asking. “I know it might well be a lost cause, but… I’d just ask you to try and see what you can do. I’ll pay ye,” he hurried to add.

But Gheorghe shook his head. “You do not need to pay me. I am happy to do it.”

“No, I’ll pay you,” Claybourne repeated. Gheorghe tried to object again, but the man silenced him. “It’s work. It deserves pay. If you’ll not take it, I’ll just give it to Saxby.”

There was only a moment of hesitation, and then Gheorghe nodded and they all packed into the truck and headed back down into the darkening valley.

The mare was huffing and agitated by the time they arrived. Claybourne confirmed that she’d been laboring for hours, her anxiety increasing all the while. Bringing Claybourne with him to ease the mare’s worry, Gheorghe approached her carefully, running his hands over her stomach, and inspecting what he could see of the foal coming out. A leg was stuck, like Claybourne had feared.

“I’ve tried pushing it back in, but it just won’t go.”

“I will try too, if that is all right? Just to see.”

Claybourne held up his hands. “Anything. Anything you can do, just do it.”

So he tried. Johnny watched from outside the stall as Gheorghe slipped one hand, then another, inside the animal. It was just like lambing, he told himself, watching the backside of that great heaving beast and hoping it didn’t kick out and cripple the man he loved.

It took a long while—Johnny didn’t know how long—but eventually Gheorghe got the foal back inside and began carefully repositioning it. Johnny could see the strain in his back and arms and he wished he knew enough to help. Gheorghe never hesitated in his work, but Johnny knew that the possibility of failure weighed on him. It wouldn’t be just losing the mare or the foal, which was bad enough. It would be losing one of the townspeople’s carefully placed trust in him—in them. That could scar forever.

The moon was up by the time the foal finally slipped out. They all breathed an audible sigh of relief when it skittered away on awkward legs—nothing broken, nothing damaged. At least not on the outside. It went to its mother immediately, and as it nursed, they all bent down, checking the sex.

“Do you have a name for him?” Gheorghe asked as they straightened up.

Claybourne shook his head. “I did, but I don’t think it fits anymore.” He paused, staring at Gheorghe, at his arms, stained and slick with blood and fluids up to the elbows. “You should name him.”

“Oh, no, sir. I could not.”

“No need to call me sir.” Claybourne frowned, and spat off to the side. “And you’re the reason he’s here, much more than me. You should name him.”

Gheorghe smiled, ducking his head in a way that told Johnny he was extremely pleased. “I will think about it,” he said finally.

“Good enough,” Claybourne replied.

He moved forward to clean off the colt, and get him wrapped tight in double blankets to keep him warm. All his faculties seemed to be working, but he was—as predicted—a runt. He’d need the extra layers, even in the barn. When he finished fixing up the colt and checking on the mare, he returned with a handful of cash for Gheorghe. When he waved it away, saying it wasn’t necessary, Claybourne simply shrugged and, as he’d threatened to, passed the money to Johnny, who pocketed it without a word, ignoring the glare Gheorghe shot him.

It was time to go, but nobody made to leave. They all just stood there, watching the new mother with her new baby.

“Don’t know if you remember,” Claybourne said after a while, “but I was there at the pub that night. The fight an’ all, while back.”

Johnny stiffened where he stood next to Gheorghe, but neither of them moved. Claybourne didn’t look away from the foal.

“Just wanted to tell you, in case you’re wondering… Ain’t the same as it was then. David’s little girl ended up, well… You know, like you. So he had a bit of a come-to and…” Claybourne scuffed his boot against the ground. “Well. Know it don’t make up for it or nuthin’—what was said or us who didn’t say a thing against it—but I’d like to buy youse a pint, if ye want. As an apology and, well, just to say thanks. For lookin’ after my mare as ye did.”

In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was the mare breathing and the colt fussing amongst the straw and the wind howling outside. And then a voice joined them.

“I would like a drink,” Gheorghe said, and like that, it was decided.

Claybourne’s wife was coming back from work just as they started for town, and he passed on the good news about the colt. She smiled wide, and even shook Gheorghe’s newly washed hand in thanks before going in to look after the two.

By the time they made it down to the pub, it was late and already half-full, loud with talk and laughter. The place fell silent when Johnny and Gheorghe walked in.

Johnny nodded at the bartender as he came in. “Maggie.”

“Saxby.” She paused, surveying Gheorghe beside him. “No more fights, hear? You still owe me for that window you shattered, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Johnny opened his mouth to snap back, but Gheorghe cut him off. “We are just here for a drink. To celebrate a birth.”

She started visibly, staring at them both wide-eyed, as if expecting to see one of them reveal a nursing newborn beneath their jackets. Johnny rolled his eyes and sat down at the bar. The quicker he got a drink the quicker this would be bearable.

Claybourne bought for them both, as promised, so Johnny paid him back by getting the most expensive option on the tap. Gheorghe, predictably, cancelled him out by getting the cheapest.

As they sat and waited for Maggie to fill their glasses, Claybourne nodded at their hands resting on the bar top, where their rings could be clearly seen. “When’d ye make it official-like?”

“Near a year ago now.”

Claybourne made a small noise of surprise, and accepted his pint from Maggie with a grateful nod when she handed it over. “And who did the asking?”

Gheorghe smiled, tipping his head in Johnny’s direction. “He did.”

Claybourne shook his head, not believing this for a moment. “No, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did.”

Claybourne turned to Johnny, impressed to the point that it was insulting. All the other eyes in the pub were on him too. It seemed everyone else preferred to listen in on their conversation rather than get back to their own. He sighed.

“Whot?” he mumbled against his glass. “Nothin’ special. Just a question. Didn’t even have a ring.”

“You had a ring,” Gheorghe corrected. “Do not lie, _iubire_.”

“Oh, piss off, _prost_.”

Gheorghe smiled at the jab. They still had that little circular ring of straw Johnny had presented him with on the hilltop when he’d asked. It hung framed above their bed now—stupidly, Johnny thought—but Gheorghe liked the memento, and so it stayed.

“What did that mean?” Claybourne asked, gesturing between them. “What he said?”

Gheorghe’s smile widened. “He called me a dumbass. And you had very good pronunciation, John,” he praised proudly, and if he could’ve, Johnny would’ve dumped his whole pint on Gheorghe’s head and walked out. Instead he settled for drinking it as fast as he could. This would get worse before it got better, of that he was certain.

“And what’d you call him first? An idiot?”

“Ah, no.” Gheorghe smiled indulgently in his husband’s direction and Johnny truly did wish he could sink into he floor. He gestured at Maggie to bring him another pint as quickly as possible. “It is a… Hm, I forget the phrase. Word of affection? He is my love. _Iubire_.”

Far from cringing as Johnny was, Claybourne looked thoughtful. “Hm. _Iubire_. Sounds nice.”

“It is nice,” Gheorghe agreed, sipping on his pint.

A minute or so passed in silence, and Johnny stared around the room, hoping his glare would be enough to send them all home. He could swear there were more people in the bar now than there had been when he’d walked in. He wondered if some secret signal had gone out— _Come and watch the queers!_ —and the thought made his skin crawl. He did not understand how Gheorghe was always so calm around these people.

“So?” Claybourne asked. “Do I get to hear the story then?”

“Ah, yes,” Gheorghe began happily, but Johnny interrupted.

“What is this?” He raised his voice, staring around at all their voyeurs. “Tired of calling us fags? We a party trick now? Should we get up on a stage or somethin’ so you can all gawk?”

Gheorghe put a soothing hand on his wrist. “John. They are being nice. Do not be rude.”

“No, they’re being nosy.”

“Neighbors _are_ nosy. That is the way of them.”

Johnny huffed, not having a response to that except, _I don’t want neighbors_. Not the best thing to say in a place like this.

But it didn’t matter, for Gheorghe was already moving on. To Claybourne, he said, “If you like, I will tell the story.”

Johnny got to his feet. “I’m gon’ take a piss. Be done by the time I get back, and spare the details or you’re sleeping with the hogs. Got it?”

Gheorghe affected a near-perfect mimic of his accent. “Aye.”

As the laughs bubbled up behind him, Johnny felt the tips of his ears turn pink. He leveled a finger at the traitor he called a husband. “Don’t push me.”

Gheorghe simply smiled that lovely smile of his, and Johnny stared him down, torn between wanting to smack him and wanting to kiss him. He walked away before he could do either. He’d get him back once they were at home, alone.

* * *

It took some time, but eventually they found a routine in town. Once or twice a month they’d head down their dirt road and spend an evening at the pub. Sometimes there was music, sometimes there was dancing, and sometimes there was even trivia (a pastime the college kids brought home with them). They didn’t usually partake in these pastimes (save for the rare dance here or there Gheorghe pulled Johnny into), but just being there in the room made them feel like they belonged.

Winslow was at the pub the third time they went down. He snuck nervous, awkward glances at them for a few hours until finally making his way over to their little booth to apologize. Gheorghe took it well, and shook the hand that was offered. Johnny told him to fuck off.

By the time they left at the end of the night, though, their tab had been covered and even Johnny had to admit it was a nice gesture. Made him wish he’d drank more, though.

Over time, the booth in the corner became theirs. They weren’t there every week, let alone every night like some others, but whenever they did show up, their space was clear. It took an adjustment period, but soon enough they settled in as if they’d always been there. Nobody glared anymore when they sat too close together. Nobody muttered when one of them dared to steal a quick kiss. Somehow the impossible had become possible: the town had changed, and Johnny had too.

Once, after a long day and a beer too many, Gheorghe fell asleep against Johnny’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around his waist and his nose nestled into Johnny’s neck. Gheorghe was warm and heavy draped against Johnny’s side, and though he’d wanted another drink, he was loathe to shift and risk waking him up. Perhaps the bartender sensed this, for Maggie came by to collect their empties. Johnny tensed, still waiting, as ever, for the old fights to continue. But she merely bussed their table and then pointed at him.

“Another?”

He nodded.

She stood for a moment, regarding Gheorghe sleeping soundly against him. A frown puckered her face, and Johnny braced himself, wondering what line they’d inadvertently crossed. But then she spoke.

“Has he always been a lightweight, your man?”

“Aye. To my shame.”

She tsk-ed as she walked away. “How long’s it’s been? Three years? Thought you’d’ve trained him up better by now.”

Johnny smiled at her retreating back. Then he bent his head to whisper in Gheorghe’s ear. “You’re a disgrace to me, love.”

But he didn’t wake. So Johnny kissed his head instead and settled in for his next drink, more comfortable now than he’d ever felt in town in all his life.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I really love writing for these two, and I’m trying my best to make each fic a bit better than the last. Still working through things, of course… Would love to hear your feedback! :)


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